Morals
by The Frisky Firelily
Summary: Jayne's morals pop up at the strangest times.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **Morals

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

**A/N: **Just a little reflection on Jayne's morals :)

* * *

They had a job tomorrow, a big one, and the decision was made to celebrate River's birthday the night before. Nobody wanted to say why exactly, voicing the fact that they were all worried that something might happen to ruin this special day didn't seem particularly festive. Still, here they were, seated around the dinner table laughing and joking.

Zoe shifted uncomfortably as the child in her stomach pressed against her bladder. Mal and Simon were grinning as Kaylee poured more drinks, the remnants of birthday cake still being slowly picked at though their stomachs were full.

Inara poured Zoe some more tea as River smiled at her little family and their antics. Jayne, despite enjoying a few drinks, had been growing more and more quiet in the last half hour or so. He kept glancing at the clock above the stove, eyes seeming to be drawn there every thirty seconds or so.

One heavily muscled arm was slung over the back of River's chair, and the girl kept sneaking him glances under her lashes. Simon thought it strange that the merc, who had been staring lecherously his sister more and more since the Miranda escapade, was resolutely looking either to his other crew mates or the clock.

Mal smirked. "Whatcha doin' Jayne? Got somewhere's ta be at midnight?"

Kaylee giggled. "Yeah, you gunna turn inta a pumpkin?"

Jayne shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the clock. "Nope."

Inara cocked a brow. "Well what are you doing then?"

He shrugged, still not looking away from the clock. "Jus' waitin'."

River was smiling secretively and Simon narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you waiting for?"

"Midnight."

Simon suppressed his annoyance at the short answers. "What happens at midnight?"

Jayne smirked to himself, still watching the seconds hand count down on the clock. "Somethin' good."

He raised a brow and the crew turned to watch the last few seconds count down until the minute hand struck midnight.

Their heads snapped back as Jayne pushed his chair out, standing and picking River up. Her legs were immediately around his waist and she smiled as he grinned lasciviously.

"Let's go, girly."

Simon stood as the merc, holding his passenger tightly, began to stride out of the room. "Wait, WHAT? Where the _guay _are you going?"

Jayne looked at him like he was an idiot. "My bunk."

Inara and Zoe were laughing as Simon's eyes tried to pop out of his skull. "Why, WHY are you taking her to your bunk?"

River shifted against him slightly, whispering something into his ear that made him groan as he replied. "Don't rightly think that's 'ppropriate ta talk 'bout Doc."

Kaylee was giggling mercilessly at Simon's horrified expression. "Why now?"

Jayne hissed as River dragged her teeth over his neck, closing his eyes and wondering why he was still talking to these idiots. "Girl's eighteen now."

Mal was looking confused and angry, never a good sign. "The very second she turns eighteen you haul her off like some caveman?"

Jayne rolled his eyes as he turned to leave the room, his voice echoing down the hallway.

"Jeez Mal, I had ta wait til she was gorram legal – what's life without morals?"


	2. Chapter 2

**TITLE: **Morals

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

**A/N: **Felt like Jayne has more moral escapades…this is set during Our Mrs Reynolds :)

* * *

"I don't wish to be wed to the large one. I'd rather…if I'm not to be yours I'd rather have the work you spoke of."

He ignored the pang of…something. He had no idea what it was but it sure settled around his stomach like a tight little vice and made his throat close up. The large one? Normally a moniker he'd happily go by but given the circumstances…

She'd said it with such…distaste. Yeah, that was the word – distaste. As if he was some giant brute who'd mistreat a woman sooner than he'd spit. As if the idea of him being married was laughable, ridiculous.

He reckoned she was probably right.

He sighed, striding across the hallway and out of ear shot. Ma had always said that eavesdroppers never heard anything they wanted to know, and damned if she weren't right. Ain't like he couldn't buy a turn in the hay if he wanted to, plenty of cathouses around the 'verse to keep him looked after.

Still, the idea of a home cooked meal and a bed warmed by something other than his right hand wasn't particularly off putting.

Jayne looked back down at Vera. Good girl, nice, dependable, hell of a gun. Vera never got jealous when he chose a different firearm, never sulked when he felt like using a knife instead of a gun. He couldn't believe for a second he'd been that lonely and desperate that he'd been willing to trade her. Why settle for one weapon when there are so many pretty ones all over the 'verse to choose from? That uncomfortable…something settled in his stomach again.

"Humiliation."

His head snapped up to see the crazy girl leaning against the bulkhead, her eyes dancing. For a second he reflected that he'd never actually seen her look so…normal. The eyes were mocking and playful, her posture relaxed rather than the ramrod straight ballerina thing she usually had going.

His eyes narrowed. "What'chu say girl?"

She gestured to his stomach, which had tightened considerably on seeing her like that. "Humiliation at rejection based on subjective perception."

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "She hurt your feelings. Made you feel like a brute, confirmed ongoing personal suspicions that mercenary equates to violent _hun dan_ with no ability to love."

He snorted. "Ain't got no need fer love, girl. Least not the romantical type – more a physical kinda guy, _dong ma_?"

He moved to stride past her and stopped suddenly when she blocked him. Those eyes were still dancing but now something slightly darker, slightly older was echoing through them. He cocked a brow, suddenly noticing the way the tight sweater and tighter shorts clung to her lean but shapely frame, the way those full lips looked when she smiled.

He struggled not to look at her body. "Don't be readin' inta anythin' girl, just looked like she could cook a might better'n t'others on this boat."

River lazily twirled a lock of brown hair around a slim finger, eyes locked with his. "This girl can cook, can clean, can be supportive."

He chuckled dismissively. "Yeah? Well that ain't no girl back there, that's a woman." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Bet she'd be alright in the sack."

The girl stepped forward, tilting her head and leaned forward on her tiptoes, bringing her closer to his face. "At least you missed out on Special Hell speeches, didn't have to listen to projected assumptions."

He didn't move away. "Yeah, heard preacher tellin' Mal what's waitin' fer folk like that."

Those eyes were drawing him in way deeper than he wanted to go. "Not only female onboard, not only possible partner for," she smirked, "physical activity."

Well, this day might not be so bad after all. The girl was a definitely on the scrawny side but he'd seen her dancing in the cargo bay, seen how flexible she was. Besides, what better way to annoy the Doc than bed his kid sister?

Key word there being kid.

Still, Jayne Cobb had never been accused of an abundance of morals, and he leaned in a little closer, those pink lips just an inch away. "Ya got any suggestions, girl?"

She laughed and raised a finger, pressing it on his lips. "Shhh, Special Hell, remember? Only seventeen, still a child."

He was trying to ignore the way her feather light touch was making his blood boil, raking his eyes up and down her lean frame. "Shame girly, looks like ya could use a tumble."

She lowered herself from her toes, making him suddenly aware of the height difference, the lights making her look far younger than she had a second ago. Seventeen, the ruttin' girl was only seventeen, a decade and a half younger than himself and touched in the head. Her face was open and sweet, her eyes filled with mirth.

_Ai ya_, he'd never felt like a dirtier old man.

He stepped back, shaking his head and sighing. "Ya wanna watch yerself girl, shouldn't be sayin' stuff like that ta men like me. Might get yerself in trouble."

"Maybe she wants trouble."

"Yeah well mebbe I wanna stay outta the airlock an' any Special Hells."

Suddenly her lashes lowered, her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, and by the grace of some strange mix of light and shadow he saw the face she'd be wearing when she would legally be a woman.

_Ma de_.

She didn't look crazy right now; she had the look of a predator observing its prey, had the look of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. It was breathtaking and a little terrifying to observe, which apparently his John Thomas took as an order to stand to attention so quickly he swore he felt the blood leaving his head.

She smirked and turned to leave, stopping as she passed through the doorway, turning back slightly.

"Won't be seventeen forever."

And with that she disappeared, leaving him alone with Vera once more. He took a second to regulate his breathing, unconsciously rubbing one thumb over Vera's hammer in a decidedly inappropriate manner, imagining silken skin beneath his fingers. He smirked to himself as her scent faded from the air, his voice a low echo through the hallway.

"Well, thank God fer that."


	3. Chapter 3

**TITLE: **Morals

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine.

**A/N: **Woot! Firefly now has 6000 stories! How fabulous :) Sorry if this is shite, just getting back into things, out of practice.

* * *

It was filthy.

Honestly, it was downright obscene.

Jayne glanced around the galley.

Why was nobody else commenting on it?

Mal was locked in some kind of not talking contest with Inara, and Jayne thought they were both probably winning. Simon and Kaylee were talking quietly in the corner, the mechanic's feet up in his lap the only concession to their real feelings. Book was lazily stirring a pot of stew while he flipped through a large cooking tome on the bench, and Wash was on the bridge adjusting their flight pattern.

Jayne quashed a groan of irritation as his eyes flicked to the other corner of the table.

There she was, both feet drawn up and resting on the edge of the wood, slim calves encased in her heavy foots. She was wearing that pale peach dress again.

He hated that dress.

Hated the way the colour looked sweet and juicy, hated the way the innocently pale material clung to her slim frame, hated the feminine, girlish, delicate dress on her body. Oversized sweaters, exercise shorts, even her normal dresses he could handle. They all looked like something straight out of a donation bin, never fitting quite right.

But that dress was too much; the strange, haunting mix of innocent peaches and sultry, slender curves was enough to make his mouth water.

But he knew he had an abnormal aversion to that dress.

It wasn't the dress that was pissing him off so much.

She was rocking back on the chair, one thin hand wrapped around the stick of the ice planet, her pink tongue darting out in an attempt to capture her sweet treat. She failed again and again, and every time she did the oversized, wide brimmed hat she was wearing slipped a little.

His hat.

Ruttin' Mal, letting her steal his things, thinking it was cute that she wanted to wear it.

So there she was, feet up on the table, dress clinging to all the right and oh-so-wrong places, pink tongue darting out to lap kitten-like at the ice planet, the bumping treat leaving little white dots of ice-cream on her nose and lips.

And his hat perched on her head.

He'd never seen anything more erotic in his entire life.

He looked up again, completely blown away by the lack of reaction from everybody else. He saw Book glance over and flash River a quick, indulgent smile before he returned to the stew on the stove.

Jayne blinked as the realisation hit.

They didn't see it. None of them saw it.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. A teenage girl struggling with an ice planet, big boots and pretty peach dress and a stolen hat perched on her head, pouty lips and pointed chin below. A sweet, innocent picture. A nice day, a gently immature moment.

He felt a warring of relief and disappointment. The girl was just enjoying herself, nothing more, and he was a ruttin' filthy _hun dan_ for thinking anything more of it.

He looked at her properly this time, feeling every bit the lecherous old man visually stealing a girl's innocence. He almost wanted to apologise.

Almost.

She tilted the hat back slightly, eyelids lowered, thick dark lashes framing eyes that were suddenly anything but innocent. She had a droplet of white on her lower lip from the last attempt to devour her treat, and now that pink tongue darted out, slowly removing the droplet and drawing it back inside.

She bit down gently on her bottom lip, ostensibly to remove any traces of ice cream, and one perfectly arched brow cocked in his direction. A slow, sultry smirk crossed her features as she released her bottom lip, and Jayne suddenly felt every last droplet of blood leave the rest of his body and head straight for his crotch.

Slim legs, booted feet perched on the edge of the table, dress slipping between her thighs as she turned back to her sweet treat. Her spare hand moved out to scratch at her knee, drawing nails slowly over pale skin, sliding her dress up her thigh the slightest bit at a time.

Jayne stared.

And stared.

And stared.

He shook himself, reaching out quickly to snatch the hat off her head, resolutely ignoring the tousled hair his movement left behind. He stood suddenly, striding out of the galley as he muttered under his breath.

"I'll be in my bunk."

Later that night, lying sprawled and panting on his bed, Jayne reflected that he truly hoped whatever deity lay in the beyond only cared about actions.

Because if thoughts counted on the list of 'immoral' things then he was downright screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

**TITLE: **Morals

**DISCLAIMER: **Not mine

* * *

Jayne moved away from the galley with a spring in his step, counting his cards. No septic tank duty for a month, plus a garbage wild card that he could use whenever he really wasn't in the mood. Simon had been distracted, and Jayne briefly considered sending the moonbrain a thank you card. The girl's flights of lunacy could be ruttin' useful at times.

He paused in the hallway for a second, trying to pinpoint his discomfort. It wasn't as if she'd shot him a look as she left, wasn't as if her panicking face had been calm, possibly even playful.

Tricks, playing with his head like she did the other day.

He had a bottle of whisky stashed in his room, one he intended on becoming rather intimate with. If he was in the mood he might even offer some to the others later.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Probably not.

He dropped down, chuckling to himself, before freezing.

"Girl, what the _guay_ are ya doin' here?"

She was perched comfortably on his bed, cross legged, with a large tome in her lap. She didn't bother looking up, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one ear and turning the page. Those crossed legs looked longer than they should, and his bunk, usually perfumed with the scent of dirty laundry and gun oil, now had the oddest tang of vanilla fighting with its usual smell. If the state of his room bothered her she didn't comment.

He suddenly grew irritated that he worried what she'd think of his room.

What was he, 14?

"34. Full grown man."

He watched her warily. "Damn right. Now git out."

"No."

He was briefly at a loss for words. This was really not his forte.

"But…s'my bunk! What the _guay _are ya doin' here anyway?"

"Reading."

He rolled his eyes, glancing around as if Mal was going to pop out from under the bed and shoot him while Book waxed lyrical on man's evil. It wouldn't matter that they were both fully clothed, or that he was deliberately standing as far from the bed as the tiny bunk would allow.

"_Tamade_, girl ya gotta get outta here."

She looked up, quirking an eyebrow. "But, I'm reading."

He rolled his eyes. "An' a nice talent that is, too."

He stepped forward, hooking one hand under her arm and grabbing tightly. "One I reckon you can practice somewhere else, _dong ma_?"

She slipped her elbow from his hand gracefully, rising to her knees fluidly. The movement caused her dress to hitch slightly, and he found himself staring at an expanse of pale thigh that made his mouth water. She smirked, tilting her head to one side to catch his attention from her position on her knees in the middle of his bed.

"Can she help you?"

For a second there his mind shot up an image that was both filthy and to the point. A few months ago he knew he would have been imagining her voice going all dark and sultry like that, he would have second guessed the seductive smirk and the way one hand was tracing the low neckline of her dress.

Now he knew better.

He glared. "Quit that, yer gonna get us both in trouble."

He placed a massive hand on either side of her waist, picking her up, turning, and standing her on the floor near the ladder. He ignored the feel of her skin under that dress, the way her hair skimmed his forearms, and the playful glint in her eye.

More than anything he ignored the tinkling laugh she let out when he moved her.

She pouted, stepping forward to run one finger down his yellow shirt, tracing the symbol. "Troublemaker. Since when does he shy away from trouble?"

He ignored the line that seemed carved into his skin by her movement. "Since it's a _gorram_ perfect reason fer Mal ta throw me out the airlock, an' this is a good gig."

He reached up to grip her fingers, though for the life of him he couldn't quite move them away. "Now, quit it, _dong ma?_"

She shot him a playful smile, stretching up til she was on her toes and closer to his lips. "_Wu dong._ She will leave you alone._"_

He ignored the feel of her breath on his lips as she lowered herself and step back. Her playful look disappeared and she put her free hand on her hip, looking slightly annoyed.

"Besides, too many other women watching."

His confused look was instant, and he glanced around the bunk again. "_Shenme? _What the ruttin' hell're ya talkin' 'bout?"

She gestured at the wall behind his bed. He turned, unaware of the proud smile on his face as he looked over his weapons collection. Every single gun and knife polished, in perfect condition, ammunition neatly stacked and each weapon hung carefully on its own hook. Lux and Cara were with Binky, Carmine and Melanie were a matching set, Vera had a place right in the centre. Bonnie, Maria, Betty-May…

He'd done it over a week, proudly displaying each one for ease of access, ensuring a firm rotation of appropriate use and careful decision. It was magnificent, a thing of beauty.

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "Beautiful, yes. But each girl has proprietary claim, and this girl will not be sharing."

He turned to see her climbing back up the ladder, ready to argue that there'd never be a reason for her to share, that this _thing _she kept coming up with wasn't happening, that her turning 18 wasn't going to suddenly turn him into her whipping boy.

More importantly, he wasn't getting rid of his girls for anyone. Didn't matter how long her eye lashes were, how pink her lips were, or how flexible she might look when she danced around the cargo bay.

Her voice was quiet and hissed from the hallway.

"Not demanding destruction! Just some _gorram_ privacy."

He couldn't help chuckling when she swore, and he knew the sound made her roll her eyes at him again.

As her feet disappeared he glanced down at the tome she'd left on his bed. _Advanced Weapons Assembly and Care._

He sighed, reaching into one of the cases under his bed and pulling out a thin blanket. He rarely needed it on ship, the temp controls were Kaylee's pride and joy, and he hated feeling too warm anyway.

As he carefully pinned it up he couldn't help muttering under his breath.

"Girl better be ruttin' worth it…"


End file.
